


je länger desto lieber

by Anonymous



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Begging, Caning, Cock Worship, Collars, Deepthroating, Dom/sub, Domestic Fluff, Endearments, Fluff and Smut, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Mild S&M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Rough Oral Sex, Sort of? - Freeform, Spanking, Subspace, and...during-care?, domestic fluff of the kind with impact play and throatfucking, forgot to tag:, gets into, just a whole pile of 'em, now i hurl it motherless and fatherless into the void of online, occasionally somewhat petplay-adjacent, territory at times, this has lived in my head for more than a year, we all still agree germany is secretly a huge cockslut right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:08:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23121526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: je länger desto lieber | the longer the better; the longer it lasts the more i love it“If anything, he’d been gentler than Ludwig sometimes truly wanted, but that Feliciano had done this at all was more than enough, more than Ludwig had ever hoped to deserve.”Alternatively:“There was a long moment of silence before Ludwig cleared his throat and said, ‘Um. Sir. I love you, but I can’t undo a belt with my teeth.’”
Relationships: Germany/North Italy (Hetalia)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 96
Collections: Anonymous





	je länger desto lieber

**Author's Note:**

> [ed.: thanks to EchoingChasm for fixing the German!]

Ludwig had brought up the possibility of pain-play when he and Feliciano were discussing maybe setting up an extended scene, one of the ones that would start one night and run through the whole next day. He hadn’t meant it as a mandatory part. It was just that—well, Feliciano could understand, Ludwig assumed, the feeling that there was something inside him winding and winding to a point that he needed let go. And if both of them could get off while doing it, so much the better.

But he had thought Feliciano had seemed noncommittal, which he took as refusal, which he understood. Ludwig knew that Feliciano’s limits around inflicting pain were broader and more solid than his own around receiving it, and he didn’t like to push.

So later that evening, Ludwig hadn’t understood the _whop–whop–whop_ sound he heard coming from the bedroom, and had poked his head around the door to see Feliciano practicing with the cane on a pillow, face set in rare concentration, and had said “What?”

Feliciano wheeled around, free hand pressed to his chest. “Oh! Oh, you snuck up on me.”

“Sorry.” Ludwig stepped back and knocked on the open door. “May I come in?”

“Sure,” Feliciano said, making a “come on over” gesture with his head. Ludwig noted the shift in his posture when he held the thin, straight-handled cane, how Feliciano was holding himself more like he did when he was fencing. The same set of his shoulders, the same containment and control of power in his right arm.

“So.” Ludwig sat on the bed, waving his arm to encompass the general scene. “I…I thought you didn’t want to?”

Feliciano set down the cane and then walked over to plunk himself down sideways in Ludwig’s lap, resting his head against Ludwig’s shoulder. “I don’t know,” he hummed, fidgeting with his fingers. “I thought at first, you know, ehhh, but then I thought more about it and. Well. You know how I feel about, you know, hurting you, dear, even though it’s play-hurting and you like it. It makes me feel too mean sometimes.”

“Yes.” Ludwig curled his arm around Feliciano.

“So there’s that, so at first I thought, I don’t know if I’m up for that now, let’s not, but then also…” Feliciano’s cheeks were pink now. “I like how you look afterwards. After, what’s it called again, impact play? It’s kind of like, you know how I like biting you, or, um, come-play? Like that. Or like when you wear your collar. The, the marks. It makes you look like…like you’re mine. And I know that’s one of your things, too.”

Ludwig felt himself flush a little bit. He had to admit he envied Feliciano’s openness. “Mm.”

“Also, I just, sometimes, sometimes afterwards you have this look, kind of soft and trancey, from the endorphins or something and it’s, it’s really cute,” Feliciano said in a rush. “And you’re all,” he waved his hands around, “you know.”

Ludwig wasn’t actually sure _exactly_ what Feliciano meant by that but he had the general idea. He realized Feliciano was waiting for him to make some kind of noise, so he “Mm”ed again.

“ _So_ ,” Feliciano said, “I thought for a while about that, and decided that, you know, I like _those_ things, and you’re really good about telling me when things are too much, and I know more or less what I can be comfortable with if I have the room, and…and you wanted it, I could tell, and I want to make you happy when we do this. So, I think, if you want to do some pain-play or impact play this time around, then I will.” That appeared to be all, and he leaned harder into Ludwig’s chest.

Ludwig shifted his grip and reached up to pet through Feliciano’s hair, eliciting a quiet sort of purring sound. “Well, I…thank you,” he said finally. “Thank you. We don’t have to negotiate it all right now, but…why the cane? There’s other, ah, implements that cause less pain. Not that I’m complaining, understand.”

Without moving, Feliciano answered “Because I like the shape of the marks it leaves and it’s easier for me to control than the strap for what I’m thinking about.”

“Ah. Okay.” Ludwig rested his cheek on top of Feliciano’s head. Feliciano curled his fingers softly in the collar of Ludwig’s t-shirt and Ludwig felt something in his ribcage opening, expanding. “Thank you,” he murmured again. “It—it really means a lot to me that you’d do this.” He paused, and then, smile pulling at his lips, said “I’ll have to make some edits to my secret ‘Doing nice things for Feliciano’ calendar, this is going to throw everything off balance for the next six weeks at least.”

Feliciano laughed, running his fingers along Ludwig’s collarbone. “You’ll make it up to me, I’m sure.”

It was a Tuesday, and they had set the date for the scene as the next week’s Friday night to Sunday morning, so Ludwig didn’t have the time to make that much headway on the calendar beforehand, although he tried. He knew Feliciano was still practicing sometimes with the cane, it having been a good while since he’d last used it. That knowledge lit strange mixtures of emotion in his chest whenever he reflected on it.

Friday rolled around and Ludwig was worse than useless at work, nervy and distracted, and then that afternoon they both came home and ironed out their negotiations and set everything up, and Ludwig cooked them an early dinner and quietly began to set up his mental space. After the dishes were done Feliciano asked him “Shall we, sweetheart?” and fairly skipped to the bedroom, where he proceeded to tie Ludwig facedown to the bed, work him up into an incoherent mess, and then fuck him into the mattress and make him beg for every minute of it until Feliciano was too tired to keep going.

“You can have your collar in the morning, treasure,” he murmured against Ludwig’s shoulder afterwards as they cuddled, Feliciano pressed up to Ludwig’s back. “You earned it ten times over.”

Ludwig, exhausted and still a bit shocky from his last orgasm, failed to hide his quiet, protesting noise.

Feliciano lifted his head and leaned over Ludwig, confusion written all over his face. “You don’t want it?”

“Want—” words felt unfamiliar in Ludwig’s mouth, too thick, and when they came out he wasn’t entirely sure what language they were in, which to be fair had been the case for the past hour. “Want it now, sir. Please.”

“Oh, sweetie, you know I’ll have to take it back off you in the bath, and it’s not comfortable to sleep in either,” Feliciano said, brushing a few locks of hair behind Ludwig’s ear. “You’re sure you can’t wait until the morning?”

He knew he couldn’t. Ludwig couldn’t quite say why, but he just—he felt unmoored, and a little cold, and wanted the safety that came with the collar. The assurance of whose he was. “Please?”

Feliciano sucked on his bottom lip, apparently completely absorbed in thought, before rolling away from him and reaching into the nightstand, fishing out a set of American-style dog tags. With some effort, Ludwig rolled over and propped himself up on his elbows to get a closer look at them—they were the set he wore on cool-down days after these kinds of scenes, or when going outside during one was completely unavoidable, or sometimes outside of a scene when he just…just needed a reminder. They were very plain, engraved with Feliciano’s initials and nothing more. “Will these work?” Feliciano asked.

“Mmh. Yes, sir.” He bent his head, allowing Feliciano to close the ball chain around his neck. The metal quickly warmed against his skin. He lay back down and pulled Feliciano close, hungry for contact which Feliciano gladly gave. “Thank you, sir.”

Feliciano touched his fingertips to the tags and then pressed his palm flat against Ludwig’s breastbone, smiling soft and indulgent. Ludwig felt something inside of him gently and inexorably give way. “Of course, Ludwig,” Feliciano said, other hand making little circles on the outside of Ludwig’s hip, “of course, my love.”

He woke up before Feliciano, which was just normal, and with heroic effort dragged himself away to kneel beside him, quiet and proper, and wait for him to wake up. When Feliciano did wake up (yawning hugely, hair a frowsy mess of curls) he blinked slowly up at Ludwig and then, smiling, hummed “C’mere, you,” and pulled him down into a tangle of limbs and kissed him. Kissed him again and again, deep, languid kisses as Feliciano drowsily worked his tongue into Ludwig’s mouth and ran his hands over every inch of skin he could reach. Ludwig allowed himself to crane into the touch, one hand sunk in Feliciano’s hair and the other resting at the small of Feliciano’s back.

Eventually, they broke the kiss. Feliciano reached up and twisted the dog tags’ chain around one finger.

“Good morning, sir,” Ludwig murmured.

“Hmmmn,” Feliciano answered, cuddling even closer than he already had been, breath blowing warm and ticklish on Ludwig’s neck. “’Morning, love.” His voice was soft and low, the way it always was before he’d had any coffee. He brushed his lips against Ludwig’s throat, over last night’s bite marks. Ludwig’s stomach performed a lazy flip. “You want your collar now?”

“Yes, sir, please,” Ludwig breathed. He pushed himself back up to kneeling, hands folded in his lap, a little reluctant to leave the warmth of Feliciano’s arms. Feliciano leaned close to take off the dog tags and buckle on his collar, kissing his cheek as he pulled back. He paused for a second, looking at Ludwig with far too much affection for him to process this soon after waking up, or possibly ever, and Ludwig couldn’t help but return the kiss. The collar wasn’t more than two fingers thick, and quite plain—Ludwig had absolutely vetoed nameplates or charms, and spikes were out of the question because, everything else aside, Feliciano would probably put an eye out. There was just the O-ring, in case Feliciano wanted to put him on a leash. It was enough, though, enough to make Ludwig feel as if some weight had been lifted off him.

The morning could almost have been a normal Saturday, except that Ludwig wasn’t allowed to dress further than his boxers, and when Feliciano finally had his breakfast of fruit and leftover panettone (which was getting a little stale, Ludwig noted, mentally reserving the rest for French toast in the near future) that was also Ludwig’s breakfast, and he had it kneeling by Feliciano’s chair, out of Feliciano’s hand. But spending so much of it stretched out on the couch, Feliciano curled on top of him like an enormous cat, occasionally passing comment but mostly half-listening to the weather report on the radio, was fairly typical. The difference, Ludwig supposed, was that he had express permission to turn significant parts of his brain off these times. He was nowhere near as out in space as he had been last night by the time Feliciano was done with him—that would have been fairly impossible, really—but when some part of his mind tried to tell him to get up and go _do_ something he would look at Feliciano, and feel the collar around his neck, and allow himself to ignore that voice.

According to the radio, the rest of the day would remain cloudy and damp, but that would have broken up by midmorning Sunday, leading into a good, sunny start for the next week. Maybe tomorrow afternoon they could go for a walk.

Feliciano shifted on top of him, propping his chin up on his hands. “Treasure,” he hummed, “how would you feel about starting something pretty soon?”

Ludwig reached up and petted Feliciano’s hair, and Feliciano butted into the touch. Like a cat, Ludwig thought again. “I’d like that, sir,” he answered. “How soon is soon?”

“Mm.” Feliciano caught Ludwig’s wrist, passing his fingers over a chafe mark from last night, and then briefly kissing it before meeting his eyes again. “Fifteen minutes?”

“Right.” Fifteen minutes. Anticipation started its fluttery drumbeat deep inside his chest.

The fifteen minutes actually turned out to be fifteen as defined by the clock, and not by Feliciano, which Ludwig appreciated, and when they had been passed in quiet kisses Feliciano took his wrist and guided him back to the bedroom. He laid out, pretty quickly, the things they’d need—water bottle, a couple snacks, an extra blanket—along the edge of the bed. From the closet, Ludwig fetched the cane and a pair of cuffs. They were leather, more give than metal and better suited for longer wear. He handed them to Feliciano, who chirped a “Thanks!” and stretched up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

“All right,” Feliciano said. “Boxers off, and kneel there.” He tilted his head towards a spot on the rug. Ludwig did as he was told, and Feliciano followed him. “Hands behind your back, now,” and Feliciano slid the cuffs onto him, giving him time to adjust before closing them. Ludwig took a couple steadying breaths, trying to settle his body into the position.

Feliciano wrapped his arms around Ludwig. “All good?”

“Mm. Yes, sir.”

“And you remember the safewords?”

“We’re color-coding, sir.” Ludwig tried not to lean back into Feliciano, it’d just unbalance him when Feliciano stood up, but it was difficult not to.

“Good,” Feliciano sighed, gently stroking his stomach. He laid a light kiss on Ludwig’s jaw, and then pulled away, adding “Kneel up, dear.” Ludwig obeyed, pushing himself up into a straight line from head to knees. He tried to adjust his spine, knees slightly apart, hands settling crossed in the small of his back.

Feliciano walked back around to his front, holding the cane. Ludwig eyed him—the little worried furrow between his eyebrows, the set of his spine; the path of motion he could even then follow from shoulder down to delicate wrist and back through his spine and hips to the balls of his feet. For all Feliciano’s nerves—fingers twisting around each other in their grip on the cane, lower lip just barely caught between his teeth—he carried himself with an unconscious confidence that made Ludwig’s mouth dry.

He’d asked, when they negotiated all this, that Feliciano not tell him how many strikes he was planning to give. _I…trust that you understand my limits_ , he’d said. Even so, Ludwig had wondered if he’d regret it, not knowing how many he should be preparing himself for. Now, though, looking at Feliciano, he didn’t second-guess himself at all.

Feliciano’s voice was deceptively light as he said “Now, I want you to hold that position the whole time, treasure. No moving.”

Ludwig bowed his head. “Yes, sir.”

“Good boy,” which, Ludwig hadn’t had the chance to actually _do_ anything yet to prove or disprove that. Feliciano didn’t seem to care, though, and stepped out of his line of sight once again.

There was a soft sound behind him—kneeling?—and then, suddenly, a sharp open-palmed slap to his ass. Before he could stop himself, he let out an “Ah!” and Feliciano laughed quietly, kissing his shoulderblade, before delivering another slap. Ludwig held back his sound at that one. Neither had actually hurt, although the first one had caught him off-guard. Still, he could feel himself warming to it. Another landed—Feliciano was going at a pretty leisurely pace. In between, he moved his hand in slow, soothing circles. Ludwig closed his eyes, the better to process the sensations.

Feliciano didn’t ever really increase his speed, but he did begin to slap harder, and before too long Ludwig was letting out little _nff_ s at each one, and once or twice something that could almost have been called a moan. _Breathe evenly_ , he reminded himself. Better to get into the habit now than not to be when he really needed it. The pain wasn’t in any way serious, and it radiated nicely down his legs and up his spine, traveling with the impact. He still had to consciously try and unlock his shoulders, stay in position without tensing too much.

He heard the small _oof_ that was presumably Feliciano standing back up, and then the muttered “Ow, my hand.” Ludwig couldn’t really help but snort quietly at that, and smiled to himself at the completely unrancorous “Don’t sass me, dear” he got in response. There was a pause, long enough that Ludwig had to squash the urge to open his eyes and look to see what Feliciano was up to, before the cane gently tapped his ass. Or, well—not _gently_ , he wouldn’t have thought it exactly gentle if it was what Feliciano had started with, but right now it was at about the intensity he’d come to expect. Even so, it felt completely different from the hand, a narrow, concentrated sting followed by a little shock of vibration.

And then Feliciano began to escalate, striking a little more rapidly than he had with his hand, still easing Ludwig farther into the sensations. Ludwig knew he shouldn’t try to push himself too hard too soon, but he tried to let himself go as lax as he could while holding his position. A good deal of the tension wasn’t from pain, anyway, but anticipation of what was coming down the pike. Occasionally Feliciano stopped to rub the area he’d just hit with his hand—whether he was testing the metaphorical waters or just messing with him, Ludwig wasn’t sure. The changes in contact had him hissing through his teeth, which was honestly a little embarrassing. He _knew_ he could take more than this.

As if Feliciano had read his mind, the next strike came in much harder—not his full arm, by any means, but definitely more than just wrist action—it cracked across Ludwig’s skin, and for a second he didn’t feel anything before the knife-sharp pain sank in with the continued pressure of the cane, the blow reverberating up his spine. “ _Fuck_ ,” he gasped, voice wavering; all his effort to un-tense flew completely out the window as the impact seemed to flare its heat all through his ass. Ludwig drew in another sharp breath, exhaled, set his shoulders back. Soon, the rush that came on pain’s heels in times like this began building in his core, trailing sparks of arousal in its own wake. When the second blow landed, Ludwig made a wordless noise, heart kicking in his chest. _Breathe into it_ , he told himself. _Breathe into it. Don’t try to get away._ In the pause after that strike, Feliciano rubbed the back of Ludwig’s neck, easing out a bit of tension, and murmured “Color?”

Ludwig swallowed. “Green, sir.” His nerves fizzed inside of him—he might have been trembling a bit, he wasn’t sure. But still. He knew he could take this, he knew that if he could stick it out through the first adrenaline wave, there’d be reward, and he’d have damned well earned it.

Even so, as the third and fourth blows bit into his ass (Ludwig was counting, although Feliciano hadn’t said to), and the closely spaced stripes began to meld into one deep ache, it took all Ludwig’s concentration to hold still and breathe steadily. Feliciano stopped and shifted back to the gentler taps for a minute. Ludwig sank his teeth into his lip, and was a little grateful that Feliciano didn’t make him stop, allowed him to keep some small measure of control over what sounds he was making for the time being. The rush kept building, making him lightheaded—soon, he knew, it would outstrip the pain, and that thought let him breathe again, stomach trembling.

Feliciano made an indistinct noise of approval, which came to Ludwig from some distance. His own ears filled with his harsh breaths, broken by the sound of impact and his low, muffled _oh_ s that accompanied it. The seventh strike, though, flipped some switch inside of him and he cried out aloud, there was just—he couldn’t hold all of it, all of everything that was flooding through him. And wasn’t that the point of all of this, anyway, to break him apart the way he wanted? His heart pounded in his throat, and Ludwig leaned back into the next one, muscles shaking, needy. The fire of the impact rolled through him, edged with bliss that, despite Feliciano’s slow pace, hadn’t subsided at all by the ninth, which just stacked more on top of it. Ludwig moaned, face red-hot and eyes shut tight.

Ten. Ludwig was so nearly, nearly there, and he jolted and gasped when the next thing he felt wasn’t the cane but Feliciano’s palm, gently smoothing over his tender skin. Unable to stop himself, he whined faintly—he’d been so close to that point of no return, to coming unstrung at Feliciano’s hands, and could only hope that Feliciano knew that, and would keep pushing.

The hand moved to his hair, soothing. “Are you all right, treasure?” Feliciano’s voice seemed both miles away and wrapped around Ludwig’s bones at the same time.

He nodded.

“Good. _Good_ boy. You’re doing so, so well, sweetheart.” Ludwig had enough self-control left, barely, not to do anything completely ridiculous at that, but it was a near thing; Feliciano’s words left him shivery with gratitude. He had, maybe, earned a little of that. “Kneel down, now.”

He obeyed, somewhat gingerly, trying not to put too much pressure anywhere. Feliciano’s hand stayed in his hair, gently scratching his scalp, little sparks of sensation traveling down to meet the massive tide that roared up his spine.

“Good boy.” The cane tapped at his knee. “Spread your legs, my love.”

Oh. _Oh_. Oh, this was—this was going to hurt. Ludwig swallowed, licked his lips, and parted his thighs as widely as he could. He was already mostly hard; as the tip of the cane traveled across his inner thigh, exerting _just_ the right amount of pressure, Ludwig groaned quietly, cock thickening further.

“So pretty,” Feliciano told him, and then he was half-kneeling behind Ludwig, arms around his shoulders, “ _so_ pretty,” and kissed him, and Ludwig thought it wasn’t exactly fair for Feliciano to make him any dizzier than he already was, but the alternative was not being kissed.

Abruptly, Feliciano stood, stepping around to his front, and let out a big breath. “Are you ready, sweetheart?” He asked, and Ludwig nodded, butterflies multiplying in his stomach. He started out much as he had before, tapping gently at first one side, then the other, warming the skin. It stung just a little and Ludwig took deep, quiet breaths, closing his eyes and relaxing himself into the sensations again.

Then—the pause, just long enough for him to realize what was coming—the barely audible _swish_ —and— _impact_ , bright line seared across the inside of his eyelids, his brief cry ringing in his ears mixed with the sound of rattan on skin, the one-two beat as the cane followed the blow with brief, steady pressure, and _lift_ as pure fire bloomed outwards along his thigh.

 _One_ , Ludwig mouthed. He still hadn’t been ordered to count, and still he would. He would count up every mark Feliciano gave him.

His nerves crackled and sparked, as if there were fireworks under his skin, and after the long pause to let the pain set in when the next strike landed, opposite thigh, and the next, and the next, it was all he could do to hold still. Buried underneath the pain was a feeling almost akin to being fucked after he’d already come, a sort of raw too-muchness just on the edge of unbearable, but that he wanted to—needed to—bear. Between blows Feliciano would stroke or tap the cane against his oversensitive skin, and Ludwig stopped bothering to even try to hold back his sounds. Inarticulate cries—he was too far gone for words, except for the count he kept in his head, from knees to waist it felt as though his body was on fire and there was nothing for it but to push through…

The cane landed again and he breathed out “Six” on a moan, and the fire climbed up and melted everything around him, burned right through his brain, until it was all of him and it wasn’t pain anymore, just sensation. His hands uncurled in their cuffs; he felt his muscles slacken, but from so far away. _Seven_. Time was stretching out around him, anchored by his count of the blows. _Eight_. Impact like a knife cutting the snarled-up Gordian knot of his body—and he could unravel at Feliciano’s feet and his master would weave him back together, everything in its place, with such painstaking, all-consuming care and he floated on the thought through the starbursts of _nine_ , _ten_ , _eleven_ , _twelve_ , loose and trembling and unspeakably calm.

After the twelfth…nothing. Nothing, for long enough that he nearly asked _is it over?_ , would have if speaking had been at all within his power. It wasn’t, and his breath sounded harsh and loud in his ears. Then, a hand—warm, faintly rough fingertips beneath his jaw, tilting his head back up from where it had lolled forward; his breath hitched a little at the contact. He opened his eyes and the brightness of the room had them tearing up, and he had just enough time to register Feliciano’s face and the love and concern on it before Feliciano kissed him. Ludwig leaned into it, soft and pliant, as if there was anything else he could be.

Feliciano held the kiss but his hands traveled, smoothing over Ludwig’s shoulders and upper arms, over the muscles in his abdomen and thighs jumping with the last dregs of adrenaline. His palms were warm, but in comparison to his inner thighs they felt cold, so cold as they passed lightly over them that Ludwig gasped and moaned into Feliciano’s mouth. His own hands twitched, desperate to hold on to Feliciano. Instead, he leaned forward, sighing when Feliciano wrapped a steadying arm around him.

Slowly disengaging from the kiss with a soft nip at Ludwig’s lower lip, Feliciano pressed their foreheads together. “You did so well, dear,” he murmured over and over, “you’re so good, my treasure, you made me so happy,” punctuating himself with kisses to Ludwig’s cheeks. He was speaking German, Ludwig noted, which Feliciano didn’t often do during scenes; his voice turned the syllables into something liquid and wonderful and enduringly _him_. “How do you feel?”

Making words felt entirely beyond him. The initial sting of the caning was beginning to fade, leaving in its wake a deep, throbbing ache radiating out from each stripe that hadn’t fully resolved into a pain that he was in any state to register. Ludwig moved just enough to rest his head on Feliciano’s shoulder, hoping that would allow him to muster at least a couple thoughts. Eventually, he managed a rough “Perfect.” Which was the absolute truth.

Feliciano let out a delighted little laugh. Ludwig couldn’t help kissing him. Throughout, Feliciano kept gently stroking his thighs, the constant, low-level pressure enough of a sensation to help ease him back down, slowly, from the clouds, sending little twinges of arousal scrolling up his spine. _Twelve_ , he thought, with not a little pride. Plus the ten from earlier. Twenty-two, and whatever else Feliciano would give him.

He began to shiver a little as the last of the adrenaline finally evaporated, and Feliciano pulled him close, more or less into his lap, and held him until it passed, and gave him water a few sips at a time and orange segments, and then Feliciano just sort of collapsed against him. He wasn’t saying anything, but Ludwig knew this stage, and nudged him quietly. “’M fine, sir,” he said. “Green. Promise.”

One of Feliciano’s hands snaked around his back and found its way to his own bound ones, giving them a gentle squeeze that Ludwig returned. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I wasn’t too mean?”

If anything, he’d been gentler than Ludwig sometimes truly wanted, but that Feliciano had done this at all was more than enough, more than Ludwig had ever hoped to deserve. “No, sir. You were—you’re perfect.”

Feliciano looked up at him, and Ludwig could see that he wasn’t all done fretting, and it pulled at him that Feliciano _did_ fret at all—Ludwig couldn’t stop that, it was as much a part of Feliciano as his light, airy gestures, or his complete inability to explain anything he did in the kitchen, and he loved it as much as those—but he looked, at least, mostly settled. Reaching up, Feliciano brushed some hair out of Ludwig’s eyes. “And you want to keep going? Don’t need more of a break or anything?”

The state he’d been in when the caning was just over, he would have done absolutely anything Feliciano asked him to; now, slightly more clear-headed, Ludwig—well, he still would, within reason. The elated, high-flying subspace, the chance to be undone again, he didn’t want to put it off. “ _Please_ ,” was about all he could get out.

Feliciano hummed, eyes hooded and gaining the sort of sleepy focus they often took in these situations. “Well, then,” he said, and pressed his lips to the corner of Ludwig’s mouth. And after that Ludwig lost track of time, of anything but Feliciano’s teeth and tongue on his neck, tugging the collar to one side for better access so that it dug into his neck, short, well-manicured nails scratching down his arms and sides and legs. It was a sweet, gentle sort of build, much more as usual, and just the same he fell into it, panting softly and letting out soft groans when Feliciano bit hard enough to sting. More marks, he thought, and arched into the touch.

Pressed up against Ludwig like this, Feliciano’s growing erection was more and more difficult to ignore, and Ludwig didn’t _want_ to ignore it, either. He breathed out “Can I—” and was silenced by Feliciano’s fingers against his lips.

“Be patient, my love,” Feliciano said brightly, reaching down and palming himself briefly through his trousers. Ludwig swallowed back a disappointed moan. He thrust his hips forward minutely, seeking at least that contact, and Feliciano allowed him that much.

He didn’t know how much longer he could be patient—one answer was “as long as Feliciano told him to be,” but Feliciano was so close and so warm and his hands moved slow and possessive over his skin, over what he was sure were bruises by now. Those hands reached his ass and squeezed, and he let out a breathy, stuttering sound that turned into a squeak when Feliciano gave it a light slap— _fuck_ , that actually hurt, waking up the crackling, frayed aftershocks of impact. He shuddered, and then again as Feliciano sucked at the hollow between his collarbones. And Ludwig had _been_ patient and Feliciano had been so good to him already and Ludwig just wanted to return that, to earn it retroactively, to show Feliciano how completely Ludwig was his.

“S-sir,” he started, and Feliciano pulled back and looked at him, hands coming to a stop on his hips. “I—mngh. Please.”

“Yes?” Feliciano cocked his head.

Begging was easier than it used to be, but it had used to be like pulling teeth, so that wasn’t saying much. He dropped his eyes and quietly said “I want…” and then trailed off, searching for anything more specific than _anything you’ll give me_ that wouldn’t also make him want the earth to open up and swallow him. Feliciano gave him an encouraging pat on the hip, and he squared his shoulders and tried to continue. “Please, I want—I want you to fuck me, sir. Any way you like. I’ll—anything, sir, I don’t care in which—in which—hole, I just, I just want you in me,” and he ground against Feliciano to emphasize his point. Feliciano made a small moan in the back of his throat, fingers digging in. Ludwig squeezed his eyes shut, thought _so much for not wanting the earth to swallow me_ , and said all in a rush “I want your cock, sir, I want to take it, I—I want to be good for you, please let me—”

Fingers pressed against his lips again and he quieted. Ludwig opened his eyes and Feliciano was staring up at him; he looked, for lack of a better word, captivated. “You _are_ good for me, sweetie, you’ve been so good this whole time,” he cooed. Ludwig opened his mouth to answer, and Feliciano said “Uh-uh, let me finish,” and then paused again, smiling at him. “You’ve been very, very good today—and last night, too!—and I think you’ve earned a reward.”

Ludwig bowed his head quickly, not trusting whatever noise he was about to make.

Feliciano made the face he made when he was pretending to consider something he’d made up his mind about a long time ago, and then flashed another grin at Ludwig, one of the ones that made Feliciano’s eyes disappear in his cheeks. “I think,” he chirped, “I’ll let you suck my cock. How’s that sound?”

“Good,” Ludwig blurted out. “Good, I—yes, please, sir, thank you.” Feliciano patted him on the hip with a soft laugh, which made his face heat up—well, made it heat up more, anyway.

“All right, let me up,” Feliciano said. Ludwig raised himself on his knees enough for Feliciano to scoot back and then up to standing. Feliciano swayed a little on the way up. “Ahh, my butt fell asleep there,” he complained, shifting his weight from side to side. Ludwig, meanwhile, settled back as best he could, thighs still parted. Feliciano stepped close, hand resting lightly on Ludwig’s head.

There was a long moment of silence before Ludwig cleared his throat and said, “Um. Sir. I love you, but I can’t undo a belt with my teeth.”

Feliciano laughed again, and apologized, and undid it for him (and, quite charitably, undid the button of his trousers as well).

Ludwig leaned forward, careful not to overbalance, and pressed his face to the outline of Feliciano’s cock, feeling its warmth through the layers of fabric. He couldn’t restrain the minute tremor of anticipation that ran through him, the pleasure when Feliciano’s breath caught as Ludwig mouthed at it. He felt something—not quite floating, but peaceful—spreading from the back of his mind, coiling softly around his insides.

Managing, albeit clumsily, to work Feliciano’s zipper open with his teeth (Feliciano’s voice above him, endlessly sweet and golden and rich, like honey, “There you go, treasure, if you want it you still do have to work for it”), Ludwig didn’t go right for pulling down Feliciano’s underwear as well, as Feliciano shimmied his trousers down to where they wouldn’t get in the way. Instead, he licked and nuzzled quietly over the thin cotton, the faintly unpleasant dryness of the fabric offset by Feliciano’s pleased little noises and the satisfaction of having it finally near him. And when he did take the waistband in his mouth and pull that down as well, he took a moment, cheek resting against Feliciano’s pelvis, breathing the smell of soap and cologne. Feliciano curled his hand at the base of Ludwig’s head, underneath his ear, enough pressure that Ludwig took the hint: don’t jump right into it.

So he didn’t. Marshaling the self-control that he knew Feliciano so loved to see strained and broken, Ludwig kissed the rise of Feliciano’s hipbone, making his way slowly to the base of his cock. “Good boy,” Feliciano murmured, and he held it still while Ludwig began, as careful and neat as it was possible for him to be, to lick. The taste was just mildly salty, not really dissimilar from Feliciano’s fingers, which he occasionally caught as he worked up and down the shaft, punctuated with careful sucks at the head, working the foreskin back. He let his eyes slide up to Feliciano’s face, dark pink cheeks and bright eyes. Feliciano rubbed his thumb behind Ludwig’s ear, and he felt a little more tension slip away from his neck. He kept licking, sometimes nudging forward to take Feliciano’s balls into his mouth, and let Feliciano’s cock rub against his cheeks. That appeared to break some kind of dam inside Feliciano, who pulled him away (Ludwig bit his lip to stop the no doubt incredibly embarrassing sound that threatened to escape) just enough to rest his cockhead against Ludwig’s mouth.

Ludwig flexed his hands, said “Thank you, sir” so quietly that if he hadn’t been watching Feliciano’s face he wouldn’t have thought he’d heard, and began to suck.

The weight of it inside his mouth was grounding, comforting, and he did try to pace himself but desire rapidly outstripped intention and soon with every move of his head downwards Ludwig was fighting his gag reflex, trying to ease himself past it.

“Slow down,” Feliciano said breathily, “slow down, love, I know you’re desperate, it’s really cute, but—but take it easy.” _Cute_ , Ludwig had maybe one or two objections to, but he did try to back off a little, slowly nodding his head until the slide was smooth and easy, until he could take a big, somewhat shaky breath through his nose and work Feliciano’s cock past his soft palate, into his throat, as far as he could take it.

Feliciano was very gentle, for all that he had his cock down Ludwig’s throat. The hand which had rested at the nape of his neck, a soft but irresistible pressure, now combed through his hair, soothing, letting him drop his shoulders and loosen his jaw. Ludwig allowed himself to fall into a rhythm, pulling back just far enough to breathe and then sliding his mouth back down until his nose pressed against Feliciano’s pubic bone, until all he could do was swallow around Feliciano’s cock, laving his tongue along the underside. He couldn’t see anything from this angle, but Feliciano kept up the petting, occasionally interspersed with tightening his fingers into a fist in Ludwig’s hair, as if in reward. And he kept talking, too, talk that made a prickly warmth radiate outwards from Ludwig’s chest, talk that had part of him wanting to crawl under a rock and part of him fairly rolling on the floor in delight.

“So _good_ , treasure,” Feliciano told him. “Such a good cocksucker—there, oh, good boy, you love that, don’t you? Love having my cock buried in your throat? Of course you do,” this in answer to Ludwig’s quiet moan of agreement, “of course you do, my love, you’ve gotten so good at taking it.” As if to prove his point, he thrust shallowly into Ludwig’s mouth; Ludwig’s eyes watered a bit but he held himself still for it, lips tight, jaw and throat relaxed, determined to _earn_ the praise Feliciano doled out so freely.

In that vein, he leaned forward and worked his tongue out of his mouth enough to lick at Feliciano’s balls. Feliciano let out a soft “Oh!” and then, unaccountably, ruffled Ludwig’s hair with a shaky laugh. “You overachiever,” he said fondly, patting Ludwig’s cheek. Ludwig wasn’t entirely able to suppress his frown at that—just because he was naked and bound and freshly caned, rock-hard on his knees with Feliciano’s collar around his neck and, it had to be said, eagerly fucking his mouth on Feliciano’s cock and all the more eager, in fact just about melting, every time Feliciano called him a good boy, didn’t mean he wanted to be _condescended_ to like he was some kind of, of favored pet that it pleased Feliciano to indulge and—oh, for fuck’s sake, Ludwig thought. Some of that train of thought must have shown on his face, because Feliciano giggled again.

Indignation rapidly fading, Ludwig slid back into his rhythm. There was something meditative about it, the back-and-forth of his head and the way his knees and jaw and ass and thighs all pulsed with their own types of pain in time with his heartbeat, something next to a marathon runner’s high. Feliciano, above him, petted his head and neck and told him that he was such a good boy, so obedient and so sweet when he was all desperate for his master’s cock, and he would moan softly every time as the part of him that was even capable of being embarrassed for it fell further away, and then Feliciano would reward that honesty of sound by sharply pulling his hair until Ludwig’s scalp joined the chorus of his body, disparate parts all knit together with one ache by and for and because of Feliciano.

Feliciano reached down and held Ludwig’s chin with his slim, strong fingers, pulling out of his mouth (Ludwig let out a brief, frustrated whine before he could stop himself) and nudging his head back and up so that they could see eye to eye. It took some effort for Ludwig to maintain the gaze in the face of all the naked, plain affection that Feliciano was beaming down at him. “All right, sweetheart?”

“Yes, sir,” he answered. “Yes.”

Feliciano ran his thumb across Ludwig’s spit-slick lips and Ludwig couldn’t help himself, he sucked that finger into his mouth and then accepted the couple more that Feliciano slid in as well, taking them down to the knuckle. He drew his head back as slowly as he could manage, letting the fingers drag against his tongue and the soft flesh on the inside of his lower lip as Feliciano withdrew them. He hoped that had got his point across.

It evidently had. Cheeks darkened, Feliciano asked, “Is that what you want, treasure?”

“No, sir.”

“Oh?” Feliciano raised his eyebrows.

Ludwig swallowed. “I want to suck your cock again, sir.” He took Feliciano’s silence and smile as permission to continue. “Please, I want you to fuck my throat, sir, I want you to come in it,” he felt the heat in his face migrate down beneath his collar, across his chest, he knew that later he’d want to throw himself down a bottomless pit thinking about this but that didn’t matter _now_ , “I want you to make me take it, I—I love how you use my mouth, sir, please, it’s yours, _I’m_ yours, sir, I just—I need it, please let me suck you off, please let me be good for you…” He trailed off as Feliciano cupped the side of his face. Pushing into the touch, he shifted his posture; neck tilted, thighs spread wide, showing the collar, the cane marks, all the signs he could give that he was Feliciano’s entirely and he could, he _would_ be good for him, that he wanted nothing more in all the world than anything Feliciano desired to give him. “Please,” he tried again, face aflame and voice barely above a whisper. “Please, sir, please…please use your pet’s mouth.” And he’d said it and meant it but there was absolutely no way Ludwig could hold eye contact after saying it. Possibly ever again. With anyone.

“ _Good_ boy,” Feliciano said, stepping forward to stand again between his thighs, cock in hand scant centimeters from Ludwig’s lips. Ludwig held himself still, breath caught and fluttering somewhere low in his belly. “You’re so pretty when you beg, sweetheart, how could I say no?” And then he thrust in, one slow, smooth movement that didn’t stop until Ludwig had taken him down to the root, taken him in his throat, struggling against his gag reflex, making soft, grateful sounds. Feliciano sighed above him, stroking the back of his head. “Love,” he said, voice warm and sweet, “love, I’m going to fuck your face—you can take that, can’t you?”

Ludwig didn’t see why there was a question, really: Feliciano wanted him to, so he could. He hummed his assent and settled, bracing himself.

As he had with the caning, Feliciano started slowly enough, but this was in his comfort zone in a way Ludwig knew pain-play never would be and his thrusts readily became faster and more intense, fucking Ludwig’s mouth in earnest. Ludwig did his best to keep up, working his tongue and throat in time as Feliciano held his head still by the hair, but soon enough all there was was to keep his lips tight and jaw soft and take it, over and over. If, before, sucking Feliciano’s cock had been running a marathon, this was a full-out sprint, heart hammering, lungs aching for whatever air he could pull down, knowing that there was no way he could keep doing this but oh, while it lasted, while it lasted…

Feliciano slowed, just enough for Ludwig to actually breathe, and let his hand drift down to cup Ludwig’s jaw, both an unspoken reminder of _eyes open, face up, let me see you_ and a check-in. Ludwig met his eyes—the impulse to look away was powerful, he had been making wet, obscene sounds as he fought to take all of Feliciano’s cock, but that impulse was overridden by the bone-deep need for him to show that he _could_ take it, to let Feliciano see that he could, that he wanted this, needed it, loved it. That if Feliciano would trust him with this Ludwig would earn every ounce of that trust and repay it a hundredfold.

When Feliciano sped up again, Ludwig relaxed into it, relishing the burn, the breathy praise Feliciano gave him. Time slid sideways. For all he knew he could have spent hours kneeling at Feliciano’s feet. And then the thrusts grew faster, faster still and Ludwig swallowed, gagged, swallowed again, it was the only thing he could do, not even enough air to moan, he was afloat and tethered only by the hands in his hair and the steady “Good boy, oh, yes, treasure, fuck, just like that…”

Feliciano pulled back—pulled _out_ ; Ludwig folded forward, coughing, before he’d even got his breath back he gasped out “Thank you, sir—more—again, please—”, vision swimming, body one enormous thudding beat.

“Breathe, treasure,” Feliciano told him. He obeyed. “There you go. There you go. Okay. Oh, you did so well for me, you’re so good at this!” Feliciano chirped. “You want more?”

Ludwig nodded.

“Of course you do, sweetheart, you can’t get enough of my cock, can you,” and no, he probably couldn’t. Feliciano slid back in, moving slower this time; nevertheless it was all Ludwig could do to keep up with him. “God, look at you, you’re beautiful like this. When you’re mine.”

Ludwig would have said—if his mouth were free and if, when it were, he could ever marshal the words— _I know what you mean, but I’m always yours, even when I’m not in the collar I’m yours_. He thought Feliciano might know anyway. He hoped Feliciano knew.

He floated again, borne up by Feliciano’s words and the dull ache that had settled over so much of his body, world narrowed down to Feliciano’s increasingly less measured thrusts into his mouth and the promise that he had made to be good for his master. It was as if he was filled with a soft red cloud, made of need and lightheadedness and the burn of overtaxed muscle, that billowed and expanded at every word of praise, and he swallowed desperately when he could and breathed when he could and didn’t care that it was messy, that it was noisy, that it was wet, only that Feliciano told him how very, very good he was.

One particularly heavy thrust—all the way to the base, scraping against Ludwig’s soft palate, his eyes blurring briefly with involuntary tears (and the brief touch to his cheek, _are you okay, love_ , and he’d never been better in his life)—and Feliciano stayed there, holding Ludwig’s head still and rocking his hips shallowly. Ludwig could tell he was close; he’d started to curse more, and his movements were ragged. He almost whined—he didn’t want it to be _over_. But being good was letting Feliciano finish, wasn’t it, and the thought of Feliciano coming on him, in him, another claim…he moaned involuntarily, and Feliciano swore above him.

Feliciano eased Ludwig’s head back, stroking himself. The hand curled at Ludwig’s nape was order enough, but even without it he would have held himself still, mouth open, waiting patiently. When Feliciano’s come coated his tongue he shivered just as much for the physical fact of it as for the endearments that fell from Feliciano’s lips. He blinked slowly, letting Feliciano work the last few drops of come into his mouth. Loosely, he knew what sort of a picture he must have made, which was only confirmed by the tone in which Feliciano said “Oh, _sweetheart_ ,” before adding, “You can swallow now.”

So he did, and then leaned forward and licked carefully at the head to clean it, and when he was done looked up and said “Thank you, sir,” loud enough that Feliciano would be able to hear how his throat was hoarse with use.

Feliciano settled to his knees in front of him and took his face in both hands. “My good, good Ludwig,” he murmured. Ludwig shivered again, eyes falling shut; he leaned unabashed into every point of contact Feliciano gave him, as his hands slid from his face down his neck and over his chest. Feliciano’s hand around his long-neglected cock was like a bolt of electricity, and Ludwig rutted helplessly against it, head resting in the crook of Feliciano’s shoulder. The other hand traced around the outside of his hip, down his thigh trembling from the strain of its long-held position and back up to the jut of his pelvis. Still, something eluded him; he mouthed a plea against Feliciano’s neck, a disjointed string of _sir_ and _please_ and _I need_.

Feliciano responded with a murmur of “I know, treasure, I know, shhh…” He passed his hand over the top of Ludwig’s thigh, gentle and steady, and then dipped down to the inside and pressed into the stripes left by the cane.

The cloud inside him roiled into every inch of his body and Ludwig came so hard he couldn’t hear for a couple seconds, striping Feliciano’s palm with his release. His head was all fog, and when sound came back it was Feliciano whispering “Good job, beloved, such a good boy.” Feliciano raised his hand up and Ludwig licked it clean and kissed the center of the palm when he was finished. He allowed himself to be maneuvered into Feliciano’s arms, sliding sideways enough that his weight was off his legs, and when Feliciano reached behind him to undo the catch on his cuffs Ludwig returned the embrace, body lax and heavy and aching. He could have stayed there forever.

After some time Feliciano shifted a little against him. “Check in, sweetie.”

“Mn? Oh.” Ludwig rolled his shoulders back experimentally. “Still green, sir. You?”

Feliciano sighed, stroking his back, smile pressed against the side of his head. “Green. You think you’re gonna come down any more, or are you at a good, um, level right now?”

“This is…this is good,” Ludwig said. “I’m fine here, sir. Want to lie down.” That felt like all the talking he was capable of right now—there was more that he wanted to say, there always was, but he’d have to store it up for the time being.

Feliciano carded gently through his hair by way of response, brushing his lips against Ludwig’s forehead. “Let’s get you to bed, then,” he said lightly. “Get you some aloe or something, and some water.” He shoved his shoulder under Ludwig’s arm, and together they wobbled to their feet.

The bed wasn’t far, but Ludwig needed every ounce of his focus to get to it and keep his legs all the way under him. He stretched out on his stomach, feeling a couple joints pop pleasantly, and gratefully sank into the pillow. Feliciano climbed up after him. Only half-aware that he was speaking, Ludwig mumbled, “Stay here, sir?”

Feliciano ran a warm hand up his spine. “Of course I will, my love.” He felt Feliciano settle at his side and knew what would come next: lotion and water and Feliciano giving him something to eat, wrapping around him and kissing him thoroughly before dozing off for maybe half an hour, coming out of his own high. And then waking up, and Ludwig would be good for him again, for the rest of the day, because that was what the day was for and what he was for during it. The thought was solid, comforting. Ludwig reached out and caught Feliciano’s wrist, sliding his hand down and interlacing their fingers. Feliciano lifted their joined hands and brushed his lips over Ludwig’s knuckles, eyes closed and long, dark eyelashes flitting against his cheek. All Ludwig’s aches beat in time with his heart.

Ludwig, drifting, didn’t know if he’d said _I love you, sir_ out loud or just thought it particularly hard. But Feliciano answered him the same, either way, so Ludwig knew he knew, and that was enough.


End file.
